


A Standard Case of Misdirection

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Anniversary, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why’re you under the bed?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Standard Case of Misdirection

**Author's Note:**

> Five word prompt fill.

Chris doesn’t even  _see_  him until he’s nearly tripping over him, Darren’s legs strewn across the floor and suddenly making Chris’s bedroom hazardous. He catches himself though, hand clinging to the bed frame, and then he frowns down at Darren and nudges the side of his knee.

In result, he hears a loud  _bang_  from beneath the bed, followed by an agonized, “ _fuck_.”

“Darren.” Chris leans his hip against the bed and crosses his arms. “Why’re you under the bed?” 

“Um.” Darren’s voice is muffled and sort of echoey from beneath the box spring, and then Chris watches as he shuffles out from underneath. It’s the small things in life, really, like the fact that Darren is facedown, and the shimmying motions does  _wonders_ for his ass.

“Would you believe me,” he pauses, and then he’s finally coming out from underneath, breathing in deeply before turning over and looking up at Chris through wild, wild hair, “if I said I was building a fort?”

“Honestly, I’m pretty surprised you even  _fit_  under there.”

“I just handed you a short joke, and you didn’t even take it. What is this feeling?” Darren furrows his eyebrows. “Disappointment?”

Chris rolls his eyes, taking Darren’s hands as they’re held out to him and then helping him stand up.

“Are you going to tell me why you were under my bed or what?”

“When does it stop being your bed and start being  _our_  bed?”

“When you put your name on the lease and help pay rent,” Chris deadpans. “What were you doing under  _my_  bed?” Because Darren is kind of a master at deflecting things, and, once, a very long time ago, Chris had been highly susceptible to it.

But he knows Darren’s tricks now.

“Um… Playing with Brian?” Darren smiles.

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping on the couch right now.” Chris recrosses his arms.

“I just like lying under beds?”

“I give you more credit than I should, you’re a  _horrible_  liar.”

“You’re really hard to lie to!” Darren retorts, defensively, and it makes Chris smile in a pleased sort of way. “And I’m… Not. Lying.” Darren winces, because they’re both aware of how horrible that particular lie was. “What do you think I was doing?”

“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure, but I’m keeping my ideas to myself.” Chris gives him a pointed look.

“Why do you have to be so smart?” Darren pouts, stepping closer and looping his arms around Chris’s neck.

“I’m still deciding whether or not to take that as an insult,” Chris muses, his hands curving on Darren’s hips.

“Idiot, it was a compliment.” Darren tugs on the back of his neck. “An annoyed but meant compliment.” He presses up then, pushing their lips together, and Chris turns into it, eyes closing and fingers gripping harder.

Then he pulls back with a gasp.

“ _No_.”

“Fucking dammit.”

“A for effort, though.”

“I almost got you that time.”

Stupid Darren and his stupid, distracting mouth.

“Almost.” Chris kisses him again, quick and chaste. “Tell me.” He wiggles Darren’s hips back and forth insistently. “I have my own tricks, too.” Chris grins at him, secretly. “So no more,  _Oh I was playing hide-and-seek with Brian_ ,” Chris mimics, dropping his voice low in a horrible impersonation of Darren’s own voice.

“But that is what I was doing!”

“ _Darren_.”

“Why do you need to know? Huh?” Darren’s eyebrows raise. “Is there something under the bed you don’t want me seeing? A secret stash of toys? Dirty magazines? A super creepy shine dedicated to my ass?” 

“Oh my g—”

“Presents?” The last word comes too fast, just tacked on at the end but separate from everything else. It makes Chris come to a pause, and he stares at Darren.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Darren is quick to respond—too quick, too fast, kind of high pitched.

“Why would there be presents under my bed?” Chris asks, suspiciously.

“No reason. Not because, like, our anniversary is coming up or something.”

Darren looks ready to punch himself in the face the moment he says it, and Chris grins—the cat that caught the canary.

“You were trying to find your anniversary present.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“Oh, well, good.” Chris sways Darren’s hips back-and-forth again. “Because you wouldn’t have found anything.”

“Under the bed?”

“In the house,” Chris corrects, and Darren looks confused. “As in, there’s no present.”

Darren still looks lost.

“As in, I didn’t know we were doing presents.”

“Oh.” Darren blinks too many times, but then shakes his head, grins. “Right, I guess we… Never said we were doing something for it.” Darren rocks a step away, fingers playing with the neckline of Chris’s t-shirt. “Just a day, right?” He smiles again, shrugs.

“Don’t be silly.” Chris closes the distance between them, touches their foreheads together. “It could never  _just_  be a day.” Of course it couldn’t.

In the end, as far as plans go, it’s an effective one.

They don’t go out, but they don’t cook—Chris, because it never ends well, and Darren, because he insists his cooking doesn’t “rise to the occasion.” Instead, one of them picks up dinner from a restaurant, and they eat expensive meals out of plastic to-go containers under the light of too many candles (at Darren’s insistence).

Really, it should be kind of ridiculous. They aren’t even wearing shoes. But it’s still probably the most romantic dinner that Chris has ever had.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t go out,” Darren says, voice soft, standing as he holds his hands out for Chris. He takes them, and lets himself be led from the hard floor of the makeshift dining room to the plush carpet of the living room. The dozens of pinpricks of candlelight still reach them there, the light dimmer and more intimate.

“I’m not,” Chris whispers, a smile playing at his lips. “I couldn’t do this to you in a room full of people.” And he pulls Darren closer, kissing him, slow and sweet.

“Yeah,” Darren breathes against Chris’s lips, eyes lidded. They look at each other for a moment, and then Chris feels Darren’s hand settle on his hip while the other laces with his fingers.

“What are you doing?” Chris asks, a curious laugh in his voice.

“ _We_  are dancing,” Darren replies simply, and Chris’s empty hand lands on his shoulder easily.

“To what music?” Chris grins. “And why do you get to lead?”

“Because it was my idea,” Darren retorts, already beginning to lead them in a simple waltz. “You can lead next time.” He presses his temple to Chris’s, and Chris closes his eyes as Darren begins to hum a soft, semi-familiar song in his ear.

They dance—slow, nothing fancy—for a few minutes before Chris breathes deep and opens his eyes.

“I got you something,” he says quietly, and he feels muscles shift as Darren’s eyebrows raise.

“And what’s that?”

Darren falters in his steps, but only because Chris stops moving. He pulls back until they’re eye-to-eye, Darren’s gaze curious as Chris slips his hand into the pocket of his jacket.

“…wait, you got me  _something?_ ” Darren’s eyebrows furrow. “You said you didn’t.”

“Rule one—”

“You’re an asshole?”

Chris rolls his eyes, and then takes Darren’s hand from his waist, unfurling it open, their free hands still laced loosely between them.

“It’s not anything crazy.” Chris hesitates, and then carefully places his unwrapped, tiny gift in Darren’s palm. “You don’t even ever have to use them, I just…”

Chris has never had an anniversary before. He wanted it to be something special, and he’s always kind of been horrible at buying gifts.

Darren looks at him a few seconds longer, then drops his gaze down to the glinting in his palm—cuff links, small and rounded, with a black enamel coating.

“Um,” Chris fidgets. “They just… Say  _C_  and  _D_ , so, you know, they could just be your initials, that way—”

“Chris.” Darren’s fingers curl over them, and Chris just stares at his closed hand until it’s suddenly tipping his chin upwards. “But they aren’t.” Darren looks into his eyes.

“They aren’t,” Chris confirms.

“ _Chris_  and  _Darren_ ,” he hums softly. “That’s what matters.” He leans closer, and Chris’s eyes close on instinct—but then Darren stops, a hairsbreadth away. “Fuck. I didn’t get you anything, I thought—”

“Shhhh.” Chris opens his eyes, so close to Darren now that it almost makes him dizzy trying to look properly. “You gave me you, Darren. You gave me you.”


End file.
